Warden's Lament
by Lossefalme
Summary: There were only three Gray Wardens in Fereldan at the moment, and one of us would have to die if the Blight was to be stopped. Riordan. Myself. Or Alistair. It would not be Alistair, of that I would make certain...
1. One

Alistair turned his back, and walked away.

Just like that.

I stood frozen in the doorway, wanting immediately to go after him, to demand a different explanation, a different reason, or to insist that this was not acceptable and I would not stand for it. But just as quickly I stopped myself from moving, from shouting out his name. I was a Gray Warden. A soldier. An elf. I had killed countless Darkspawn. I had gathered armies and solved disputes that had seemed to have no solution. I was above pleading and begging... above the sudden desparation that clogged my throat and stung my eyes with tears.

I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly and spinning from the door, swinging its heavy wooden weight shut just a little too hard. The thud echoed throughout the stone chamber of my room at Arl Eamon's Denerim estate. I winced. Hopefully he had not heard that... hopefully my calm and composed replies to his statements had seemed genuine enough.

I bit my lip and clenched my fists, struggling to breathe against the fire in my heart, the tightness in my chest, the helplessness that writhed in my gut. I bared my teeth, swallowing back a cry of fury. After so long... after so much... after all I had given to this cause, including the rest of my life and eventually, even my sanity, the one small bit of happiness, of pleasure, the one tiny bright spot among all the darkness... had now been snuffed out.

Didn't I deserve just at least that one, small thing?

But of course he was right.

"Well, what did you expect?" I snarled at myself, pacing furiously back and forth at the end of the huge four-poster bed. In all the turmoil over the throne, and all my efforts to put Alistair upon it, I had never once considered what might happen to myself should Alistair actually become king. I had not wanted to be a queen, surely no more than Alistair wanted to be king, even if I were to be _his_ queen. Nor would it have been appropriate for me to suggest such a thing to the people of Ferelden. That would have made Loghain's suggestive claim true, at least in appearance - it would have looked like I was trying to place a Gray Warden on the throne, specifically for the purpose of usurping political power myself.

I had not wanted that power, neither by accident nor purpose.

Choosing whether to offer up Anora or Alistair for the throne had been agonizing enough, not least because of Alistair's poignent protests against being king. Who was I to force him into something he was not comfortable with? And wouldn't it have been easier for us if he were _not_ king? In the end I had managed to push both of our selfish wants aside and trust my instincts. Anora had betrayed her word to me at the Landsmeet, showing a side of herself that reminded me too much of her father. Fereldan needed an honest, caring ruler who also knew how to fight, who had seen the horrors of battle firsthand. Fereldan needed Alistair.

But how had I forgotten one of the most important duties of a ruler? Loghain's betrayal, recruiting allies, finding the Archdemon and stopping the Blight had crowded my mind so much that I had ignored one of the fundamental requirements of a King or Queen: to produce an heir.

I exhaled a long breath, sinking down onto the edge of the bed, holding my head in my hands. Alistair was right. Two Gray Wardens could not have children together. He would have to find a wife outside of the order. To that end, our relationship was... over.

I was not mad at him, I realized, but at myself. I should have taken that into consideration as well. Not that it would have changed my mind in the end, but it would have helped to prepare myself for the ineviteable consequence. Would have helped if we could have discussed such things beforehand... before now, when we were so close to being ready to confront the Darkspawn Horde. Before now, when I needed all my focus to be on getting to the Archdemon and destroying it.

And instead here I was, agonizing over the what-ifs and could-have-beens of a relationship I'd really had no business pursuing in the first place.

My door burst open suddenly, spilling forth a short, round, and red-headed figure who stumbled, caught himself, and then whirled to face me with a broadsword raised high in one hand and a sloshing pint of ale in the other. "Ne'er fear, m'lady!" Oghren bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Og'en's here fer the fight! Show me wer ther are and I'll gitem!"

His intrusion was so unexpected I had not even risen from my seat on the bed, nor moved for my sword in defense. I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, at a complete loss for words.

The Dwarf squinted, looking around my room as if he expected to confront the Horde itself in the shadowy corners. He had somehow lost his shirt - or disgarded it, more likely - and his beard did little justice to the amount of hair that covered his chest. I pursed my lips in an attempt to hold back a snort of mixed amusement and agitation.

"Oghren," I finally choked out, "what in Andraste's name are you doing here? It_ is _customary to knock on a person's door before barging into their private quarters!"

The Dwarf brought his watery gaze back to me, and I could tell from the way he swayed as he stood that he'd had far too much to drink. "Eh?" He blinked, looked around the room one more time, and then lowered his sword. "My apol'gies, Warden. I heard a thun'rous boom and though' you might be in danger!"

I lifted my eyebrows. "I appreciate your concern, Oghren, but there is no danger here. What you heard was my door." I cleared my throat. "I... I accidentally shut it just a little too hard. You know how these castles echo... and anyway, if there were any danger here, I would be fully capable of handling it myself."

"Ah yes, a'course," Oghren mumbled, nodding in an exaggerated manner. "I shoulda known. Jus' a little lover's quarrel then, eh?"

Again I was struck dumb, my face immediately burning in humiliation. Had we really been that obvious?

"Shoulda known Alistair woulda ne'er lef' you in danger." Now the Dwarf was shaking his head, pausing once to slurp down more ale. "A'course, a'course. Makes perfeck sense now... saw him out there in the hall, I did, I though' he looked awful stormy..."

"I beg you're pardon," I finally blurted, "but you are mistaken. There was no... er, lover's quarrel, as you put it. Alistair and I are friends." I didn't like how hard it was to say that word. But I pushed on. "We are fellow Wardens. He will be King of Fereldon soon, and as such will need a Queen and an heir. I... I could give him neither." It made my stomach sour to say such things, no matter how true they were.

Oghren frowned at me. "Tha' so? Really?" He sheathed his sword with a grunt and pulled at his beard. "I coulda sworn..." He was lost deep in thought for a second, but then came out of it with a jolt and shrugged, finishing off the rest of his pint and swiping his mouth with his bare forearm. "Ah well, all the bet'er, eh Warden? Love n' war is too complicated! Always worry'n - are they alive, are they dead, are they safe? Ne'er able ta turn yer back on 'em, afraid the'll be run through the next second!" He shook his head again. "No good ta love another warrior, just looka what happen'd ta me and Branka, ha!"

He chuckled, then waved dismissively. "Ah, I need meself another drink." He wandered out the door and was gone, just as abruptly as he'd appeared, without so much as wishing me a good night.

I sat for a long few minutes in the resulting silence, confused and bewildered, before rousing myself at last. I got up and looked down the hallway in both directions. It was empty and quiet in Oghren's drunken wake. I shut my door again, but softly this time.

Maybe Oghren was right. Maybe it really was better this way, despite the heartache, the frustration. Maybe it was better to endure the pain of seperation now rather than risk suffering the greater anguish of losing a lover in battle. Maybe.

I shook myself from such brooding thoughts. It was too late for regrets now. What was done was done. It had brought us to this point, and now the issue had been dealt with. Fereldon would have a king. Alistair would find a queen, and have an heir. And I would... I would...

_Leave._

The notion whispered through my head of its own accord, but I knew at once it was the correct course of action. It was what I must do, for both our sakes. I had asked him if we could still remain friends, but it was a reflex. In the back of my mind I had known, even when asking the question, that it wouldn't be possible. I could not bear to be near him without having him for myself. Best to just leave, disappear. Occupy myself with some other work, or training, or teaching... anything to avoid having to watch him from afar, from the outside. Anything to avoid having to look him in the face, in those eyes, and speak to him as if everything between us had never existed.

It would be a lie. And I could not live a lie.

A weight seemed to lift off my shoulders, and a new resolve hardened in my chest. I turned toward the looking glass, staring at my reflection. I looked as if I had battled through the Fade and back. Sweaty, dirty, still streaked with dried blood, my armor dented and scratched in places. I scrubbed my hands over my face and swept my silver hair up into a ponytail. We had fought through so much to reach this point... and now it was almost over.

And I had a new purpose.

No longer to both get my companions and myself through the upcoming battle alive, but to protect Alistair - the new King. To allow myself to throw all that I had into the fight. It was no longer necessary for me to use caution for the sake of self-preservation. With the Archdemon gone, the Blight thwarted, and Alistair beyond my reach, what was there left for me? To return to the Alienage? Recruit more Gray Wardens as the taint within me slowly gained control of my mind?

No, I would not have that. I would choose my own fate this time. I would allow myself to be selfish, just this once.

My mind decided, I stood from the bed and began unbuckling my armor, shedding it piece by piece in preparation for a wash and then an attempt at sleep.

Tomorrow, we marched to Redcliffe to confront the Horde.


	2. Two

To our dismay, we arrived at Redcliffe only to be told the Horde was not, after all, heading in that direction, but instead was well on its way to Denerim. Only two days journey from the capital, in fact. Two days from the very city we had just left.

I quelled the frustration that raged within me, but only with great difficulty. How much time had we just wasted? How much energy and strength had been spent on unnecessary traveling - energy and strength that was direly needed for fighting Darkspawn. All because of bad judgement by our previous scouts.

Despite the burning urge to turn right around and begin marching immediately back toward Denerim, I suggested the armies stay the night at Redcliffe and rest as well as they could. One glance over the various units was enough to tell me the soldiers would be more effective with some kind of reprieve between these breakneck marches, however short of a reprieve it might be. Every second counted at this point, but it would do no good to arrive at Denerim with armies too tired to fight.

Still, I wasted no time in seeking out Riordan for our private Gray Wardens-only chat. His tone and somber expression worried me, winding my insides into even tighter knots. What could he possibly say to us now?

I met Alistair in the hall, and despite our last conversation and my recent decision, my heart still jumped at the sight of his broad-shouldered frame. I swallowed hard, attempting to slow my suddenly racing heart and quickened breathing. He fell silently into step beside me, his shoulders squared and head held high - every inch the figure of what a king should be. My chest squeezed at the thought and I resolutely focused my gaze on the cobbled floor beneath my feet.

The silence stretched out between us, awkward and uncomfortable, filled only by the soft tread of our boots on the stone.

This was why I had to leave, one way or another.

We reached Riordan's room and Alistair cleared his throat and turned to me, opening his mouth to say something.

I knocked loudly on Riordan's door, not wanting to give him the chance. I couldn't afford to second-guess myself, and neither could he.

"Come in," Riordan called from inside, and Alistair shut his mouth, shooting me a look of annoyance. I ignored him as I pulled open the heavy door and stepped over the threshold, leaving him to follow me.

He did so finally, and as he came to stand beside me I heard him utter a soft sigh.

"You're both here, good," Riordan said, moving to shut the door. Then he came to stand before us, straightening his shoulders in the way Elder Valendrian often had before telling us the humans had committed another injustice against a Denerim elf. I braced myself.

"You are new to the Gray Wardens," Riordan began, "and you may not have been told how an Archdemon is slain. I need to know if that is so."

Alistair grunted. "You mean there's more to it than, say, chopping off it's head?"

"So it is true. Duncan had not yet told you. I had simply assumed..." The senior Gray Warden trailed off, shaking his head. He crossed his arms, looking us over. "Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Gray Wardens are needed to defeat the Darkspawn?"

I glanced sideways to Alistair, saw him frowning. He clearly didn't like where the conversation was heading, either.

"I imagine it has something to do with the taint in us," I ventured, also crossing my arms.

Riordan lifted his dark brows. "That is exactly what it involves. The Archdemon may be slain, as any other Darkspawn, but should any other than a Gray Warden do the slaying it will not be enough." Riordan paced slowly in front of us, back and forth, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. "The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest Darkspawn and will be born anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal. But if the Archdemon is slain by a Gray Warden, its essence travels into the Gray Warden instead."

I blinked, uncrossing my arms. My spine stiffened as understanding dawned.

Alistair shifted on his feet. "Well, that doesn't sound very good."

"A Darkspawn is an empty, soul-less vessel," Riordan acknowledged heavily, "but a Gray Warden is not. The essence of the Archedemon is destroyed, and... so is the Gray Warden."

Alistair stepped forward, his expression dark. "Meaning, the Gray Warden who kills the Archdemon... _dies_?" He choked out the last word in disbelief.

"Yes. Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way."

For a moment both Alistair and I were struck dumb, attempting to process this sudden and frightful news. And then the solution presented itself to me, cold and clear and absolute.

"Then I will be the one to make the final blow myself," I blurted.

Alistair startled, whirling to face me. "What! Absolutely not! I won't allow you to -"

"In Blights past," Riordan interjected loudly, cutting off Alistair's protests, "when the time came, the eldest of the Gray Wardens would decide which amongst them would take that final blow. If possible the final blow should be mine to make. I am the eldest and the taint will not spare me much longer. But if I fail, the deed falls on you two." He looked us both in the eyes, long and hard. "The Blight must be stopped now, or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Gray Wardens can assemble. Remember that." He threw up a hand. "But enough of this talk. There will be plenty to do tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your rooms."

He walked to his door and opened it, waving us out.

Alistair nodded to the senior Gray Warden as he passed. "I will see you when the army is ready to march, then. I guess this ends soon... one way or another."

"That it does, my friend. That it does."

The door shut softly behind us, and we were once again alone in the hall. The strange and awkward silence fell over us once more. I hung back, waiting for Alistair to lead the way, but he hesitated. And I had nothing to interrupt him with this time. The hallways were empty, the castle eerily quiet.

"Kallian," he finally began, "I... I'm sorry for what I said in there. I didn't mean to presume to stop you from doing anything, especially since we are no longer... well, since we... decided to end it..."

_If only things were that easy_, I thought bitterly.

"And I don't doubt your skills," he offered quickly, "it's just that I... I don't want you to do anything... rash." To my surprise, he reached out and took my hands in his, and my skin tingled beneath his touch. I became painfully aware of the closeness of his body to mine - it felt as if there were physical electricity snapping between us.

"Please, Kallian," he whispered, "promise me you will let Riordan take the final blow if he is at all able. Please."

Despite myself I was quite touched by his concern. "Of course I will let him take first chance at it," I said easily. "But if he should fail then I should be the next to try. You have a duty as king now, Alistair. It will not help Ferelden if you are dead."

His jaw clenched.

"We should return to our rooms," I said, attempting to forestall the argument I saw building on his face. The sudden gap widening between us made his touch all the more difficult to bear. "As Riordan said, we have much to do tomorrow, and should rest as much as we are able." I freed my hands from his grasp and gave him a curt, formal nod. "Good night, Alistair."

It took a great deal of effort to turn away from him and move off alone down the hall toward my room, and an even greater effort to keep myself from looking back.

He did not try to stop me.

* * *

><p>Alas, there was to be little rest for me that night.<p>

I arrived at my room to find Morrigan standing by the hearth, waiting. When she announced that she thought it time for us to "talk", my hand slid down to grasp the haft of my mother's daggar. Morrigan had always been a mystery to me - her motivations were never quite clear and her attitude toward other living things made me hesitant to trust her completely. I kept her close to watch her, and though she had not yet done anything to outwardly betray any of us, I could not fight the suspicion that crept through my gut when I looked into those golden eyes. Had she somehow ferreted out the truth?

I was still not entirely sure it had been the right decision to let Flemeth escape, but it had seemed a wise thing to do at the time. Since returning from that journey, however, I had constantly wondered, in the back of my mind, when the Witch of the Wastes might discover she'd been decieved.

But it was not Flemeth she wanted to talk about.

Instead, she spoke of a "way out"... a way in which to prevent any Gray Warden from dying when the Archdemon was slain. My heart leapt with hope for a brief second before my mind caught up to the situation. If Riordan had not mentioned such a "way out", it meant the Gray Wardens did not know of such a thing - or if they did know about it, they had decided the gain was not worth the risk.

Either way, my inital optimism was drowned in a rushing tide of doubt. Nevertheless, I bade her to continue her explanation. Curiosity and a small, if desperate, hope pushed back against my suspicions.

Morrigan gave me an appreciative nod, then walked slowly toward my bed as she went on. "What I propose is this," she said in her silky, lilting tones, "convince Alistair to lay with me. Here, tonight."

A strangled noise escaped me and I took a step back, the words hitting as hard as a physical blow. Of anything she could have possibly said, such a suggestion was certainly the very last thing I ever would have expected to come from her mouth.

Morrigan sat on the end of my bed, seemingly oblivious to my reaction. "And from this ritual, a child will be conceived within me."

My mouth fell open, but words utterly failed me.

"The child will bear the taint," Morrigan continued, as casually as if we were simply discussing the weather, "and when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon. At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed, with no Gray Warden dying in the process."

I struggled to find a way to voice the tumble of emotions roiling in my chest. "That..._ that _is your plan?" I finally spat. "Are you insane? What happens to the child then, does it become a Darkspawn?"

Morrigan smiled patiently. "Not at all. The child will be born with the soul of an Old God, but without the corruption that makes Darkspawn evil. Just think about what I offer you. A chance to avoid death, or better yet, a chance to slay the Archdemon and live as a hero. No Gray Warden has ever done this. In return, I conceive a child. And after this is done, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish."

I blinked, my temples beginning to throb. The implications of her proposal were staggering. Beyond just the horrifying thought of Alistair having to bed her, and the difficulty I forsaw in convincing him to do such a thing, there was the question of what exactly she planned to do with this child once it was grown. And how powerful would it be? And how much would she be able to influence it? Was it possible she would follow in Flemeth's footsteps and someday try to possess the god-child herself? Would she be content to stay unseen in the Wilds with this god-child of hers, or would she someday seek to take over and rule all of Thedas?

I narrowed my gaze. "And what would you do with this child, once it was born?"

She lifted her chin. "That is my own business."

I frowned, chewing my lip. Too many questions. Too many unknowns. _To replace one monster with the threat of another... It's just too dangerous_.

Morrigan abruptly stood from the bed, making my fingers tighten around Fang's haft. But she merely strode past me to gaze into the fire, crossing her arms. "If you would not do it for yourself, than consider doing it for Alistair." She glanced back at me over her shoulder. "He cares for you a great deal. Do you really think he will let you sacrifice yourself when the time comes? And being king was not his idea. Do you trust him to not do something foolish there, in the heat of battle, when he sees the opportunity to both save your life and end his sovereignty?"

I swallowed hard, remembering his reaction to my statement about taking the final blow and the argument he'd wanted to make in the hallway afterward. Morrigan was right in that regard... I realized suddenly that I fully expected him to attempt to kill the Archdemon himself if Riordan failed.

My resolve against Morrigan's offer wavered. A part of me thrilled at not having to be doomed to certain death, at being able to know that even if Riordan failed, and even if for some reason I could not prevent Alistair from slaying the Archdemon, he would be safe.

But then I looked again at Morrigan, saw her watching me with those steady golden eyes, remembered her love of power. A god-child in her possession, or under her influence, had the potential to be disasterous. What good would it do to put a king on the throne, unite Fereldan once more, and stop the Blight now only to have Morrigan destroy everything later? I would not be responsible for that.

I was doomed to die an early death already - what was the difference in dying a little earlier to save so many lives?

I shook my head. "No," I whispered. "No, I'm sorry, I cannot agree to such a thing."

She spun to face me. "Do not let your foolish pride condemn you! No Gray Warden asked for the sacrifice that is now demanded of them, and I offer _all _of you a way out. Will you not reconsider?"

For a split second more I was tempted. But no, I just couldn't trust her... "No," I said. "That is my final answer."

Her face darkened, her mouth forming a hard line. "Then you are a fool," she growled, spinning back to face the fire. "I will not stand by and watch you waste this opportunity. Die, if you feel it is worthwhile, or be overshadowed. I care not."

I shook my head in dismay, knowing that we needed every body we could spare in the upcoming battle. "There is no reason you should have to leave, Morrigan."

She sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging. "Would that I could have helped you," she said, with what sounded like genuine regret. Though whether that regret was for the potential loss of a Gray Warden or for her lost opportunity of having a god-child remained questionable. "That is your doing, however, not mine." She turned toward me once more. "Fare you well, my friend. I do what I must now, and so shall you."

She gave me a final nod, and strode for the bedroom door.

"Farewell, Morrigan," I murmured as she passed.

She gave one last look back, then vanished around the doorframe and was gone.


	3. Three

I could not sleep.

Doubts plagued me.

I tossed and turned in the giant bed, disliking the cavernous stone room and its gaping emptiness, its lack of warmth and life. I had grown up in the Alienage, sleeping in a small bed in crowded quarters, surrounded by family and friends. After joining the Gray Wardens, I shared camp with them and other soldiers, and then later, shared camp with my own little group of companions and allies.

There was always open sky, stars, the roar of the fire, the sounds of others moving about getting food or cleaning armor. Even Oghren's thunderous snoring had become a comfort. But here, in the castle, everything was closed-in and silent. Divided. Cold.

I shivered, huddling under the covers, wishing I could move the bed closer to the fire. I glanced over to my armor hanging on its stand in the corner. It was like a second skin to me now, and being without it felt wrong. I felt naked and vulnerable in this strange place. I didn't like it.

I sighed heavily, turning onto my back to stare up at the ceilling. I fingered the tiny vial of Darkspawn blood that still hung around my neck - a constant reminder of the Joining and my eventual fate. So much had happened since that day in the Alienage... my wedding day. A day that was supposed to be filled with joy and happiness. I had expected that day to change my life, but not in the way it had. Everything since then was a whirlwind, a blur in my mind... too much to even contemplate.

And it was possible that in only a few days, all of it would end.

I threw back the covers with a sudden resolve, moving across the room to my trunk of supplies. I opened it and took out one of my small belt pouches, digging around inside until I found what I was looking for: a small, plain gold ring. My wedding ring. Though I had never gotten the chance to wear it, I kept it in memory of Nelaros. I had not known him very well, since our marriage had been arranged. But he'd proven himself a noble, brave elf - rushing into the Arl of Denerim's estate to save me when I'd gotten kidnapped. He'd risked everything for me, and in the end had paid for it with his life.

I took the ring to the hearth and stood looking at it shine in the flicker of the flames. We were approaching the end now, and it was time to let go. Let go, and move on, whether by death or distance. I clenched the ring in my fist one last time, took a deep breath, and tossed it into the deepest part of the fire. I watched as it slowly began to glow, taking in the heat until it was a white-hot circle. Then all at once it liquified, dribbling away into the embers, releasing the past along with my breath. I turned away, going back to my trunk. I pulled on some lightweight trousers to match the loose sleeping tunic I wore, and left my room.

I had one last thing to resolve.

* * *

><p>My stomach had crawled into my throat by the time I reached Alistair's door. I didn't really know what I would say, or why I was even there. I hesitated, nearly running back to my own room. But no... if I didn't do this now then I would regret it forever, regardless of how the battle in Denerim ended. I took a deep breath and knocked quickly, before I could change my mind again.<p>

To my surprise, he opened the door almost immediately, dressed only in a pair of well-fitted pants. He smiled when he saw me, but I could only stare back helplessly, as my breath had become stuck in my chest.

"You couldn't sleep either, huh? Not surprising. Here, come in." He waved me inside, and I somehow managed to step through. He closed the door behind me.

"Well, this is my room," he said, stretching his arms. "I'd give you a tour, but I'm pretty sure it's exactly the same as yours."

He was anxious too, and trying to cover it with his usual levity.

"Alistair, I need to tell you something." I could not stand to draw this out any longer than necessary.

His smile faded. "Oh dear. That's the joy of being king, I guess. Everyone always brings you bad news. Well, what is it?" He crossed his arms. "Rats running amock, cheese supplies run low? Go on, tell me, I can take it!"

"I love you."

His eyes widened, his arms falling to his sides. His mouth opened and closed. Then opened again. "I... you... you what?" The whisper could barely be heard above the fire.

I took a deep, even breath and let it out slowly. "I said... I love you."

He stood in shock for several more long seconds, then shook his head, spinning away from me. "No. No no no, don't tell me that!"

His reaction made me hesitate, but there was no turning back now. "It's the truth," I insisted. "And I had to tell you now... tonight... before... well before whatever happens tomorrow. I wasn't going to say anything, I thought it didn't matter, but... I couldn't sleep and I knew... I knew I wouldn't be able to do my duty at Denerim without you knowing." I swallowed hard, disturbed by the fact he wouldn't face me. I waited a moment more, but when he remained silent I reluctantly continued. "So now you know. And... and I'll leave now. I'm sorry. Good night."

I moved for the door, but before I reached it he snatched my wrist and pulled me around, catching my face in his hands. I thought for a moment he was angry, but then he kissed me hard, full on the mouth.

I stiffened at first, taken completely by surprise, but then everything I had been struggling to hold back for so long exploded into the open, burning through my blood, and the intensity took my breath away. I leaned into him, returning his affections with fervor. We became entangled in eachother's embrace, stumbling into chairs and supply trunks.

"I'm so sorry, Kallian," he breathed onto my cheek, when our lips finally seperated. He pressed me to him, one strong arm around my waist, one hand stroking my hair. "I never wanted to give you up, I never wanted to leave you... not for anything. Curse it, all I wanted through this whole mess was you!" He kissed below my earlobe, down my neck, giving me goosebumps. "I thought I would be all right," he whispered against my skin, "I thought maybe it hadn't gone that far yet, but... I was just deluding myself. My only hope was that you didn't feel the same and... and now you've told me you do..."

He lifted his head to look me in the face again. "I love you, Kallian. And duty be damned - I want you with me. Please. Please stay with me."

Somewhere between the heat of his skin against mine, the natural fit of our armorless bodies as we stood together, the raw desperation of his expression, I knew this was not the time to be making any decisions. I could not think, and did not want to. I reached up and pulled him into another kiss, and after bumping into a few more pieces of random furniture, we made our way clumsily toward the bed.

* * *

><p>I could not remember the last time I slept so well.<p>

The first blare of the trumpets awoke me, but I looked over to see Alistair still sleeping soundly. I moved close to him under the covers, relishing his warmth before the cold, hard armor covered it again. I watched the rise and fall of his chest, studied his peaceful, sleeping features. I smiled, remembering the night before. At least we had that, whatever this day would bring.

_Please stay with me._

My smile faded. He would not easily forget that I had failed to answer his request. Perhaps he would think the actions that followed his question meant yes. I wondered if they did, in fact, mean yes. Would I actually consider staying with him - becoming his betrothed, becoming Queen, despite everything that would mean?

I sighed heavily.

After all of my preaching about duty-first and being selfish...

I curled up closer to him, letting my arm fall over his side. There were only three Gray Wardens in Fereldan at the moment, and one of us would have to die if the Blight was to be stopped. Morrigan was gone, her ritual out of reach even if I were to have second thoughts about it. There was only one way to slay the Archdemon now.

Riordan. Myself. Or Alistair.

It would not be Alistair, of that I would make certain.

And I could not make promises I did not know I could keep. If both of us survived the battle against the Horde, if both of us survived the Archdemon, then maybe I would consider it...

_Please stay with me._

I buried my face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his smell and alarmed at the violence with which I hoped I could.

The second fanfare of trumpets sounded. It was time to get ready.


	4. Four

The moment I saw Riordan's limp form slip from the dragon's wing and plummet to the earth below, my blood turned to ice. My heart settled like a stone into my stomach, and for a second I was paralyzed, nearly taking an enemy sword to the throat. I dodged it at the last second and swept upward with my own knives, felling the Hurlock and freeing the way before me.

The dragon, clearly wounded, crashed into the top of the tower that loomed in the distance. The tower we had meant to bait it to in the first place. Now it was there, and already hurt. But still alive.

I glanced reflexively to Alistair, and was startled to see him looking at me. Our eyes met, held. And then we both sprang into action, bolting forward, heedless of the Darkspawn in our way. The rest of our companions let out confused cries at our sudden departure, but I did not dare to pause and see if they followed. I had to get to the Archdemon... I had to reach it and end it before Alistair got the chance to interfere.

Happily for me, my leather armor was a great deal lighter than his fancy plates. I was able to run faster and dodge enemy attacks much easier than he. By the time I reached the doors at the tower's base, he was several steps behind me.

"Kallian, don't!" he shouted, and the anguish in his voice made me falter.

More Darkspawn poured from the adjoining rooms into the entrance hall and I swore as the necessity of stopping to fight my way through them allowed Alistair to catch up to me.

"I know what you're trying to do!" he yelled over the clashing of swords and screams of Darkspawn. "You're not going up there without me!"

"Curse you, Alistair!" I shoved a Genlock off the end of my knife and jumped over it to engage another one. "Only you can be king! There is no one else... Fereldan needs you!"

"And I need you!" He beheaded a Hurlock in a great spray of blood and swung to face me, looking truly fearsome in his gore-splattered armor, his brows drawn low over stormy eyes, stained sword held high. "Anora can have the damned throne," he growled, "I never wanted it anyway! Without you... I can't do it without you, Kallian."

The others finally arrived, granting us a reprieve as fresh swords, knives, arrows and spells filled the cavernous space. I took the chance to duck through the first opening provided, once again leaving them behind in my race to the top of the tower. Alistair was close on my heels.

"Don't be a fool," I snapped at him over my shoulder. "You know Anora cannot be trusted! We have worked too hard against her father's treachery only to hand Fereldan over to her now! One of us is going to die today, and I will not let it be you!" I darted through the narrow doorway that led to the winding spiral staircase, taking them two at a time.

"NO!" Somehow his fingers hooked into my belt and yanked me backwards, spinning me off balance so that I nearly fell down the stairs we had managed to climb. But he caught me there, too, saving me the fall, his hand wrapped around my right bicep. I steadied myself and tried to yank my arm from his grasp, but his grip was like a vice.

"Did our night in Redcliffe mean nothing to you?" he spat out in a harsh whisper, his voice echoing in the cramped space. "I can't let you do this... not for me, not for anyone. If you love me at all, if you care for me at all, you won't do this to me - you won't force me to live out the rest of my life without you." He shook his head in exasperation. "I told you that night I wanted to be with you, always, and I meant it. But if we can't do this together... then let me have this. Let this be my first and last act as King. Let me be remembered as something more than Maric's bastard son."

Tears blurred my vision of his face. I blinked, felt their hot trails down my cheeks. The sounds of battle below grew louder, resonating within the stone walls. I had no time, no words to argue with him. "I... I can't... I can't let you do that," I finally forced out, my voice gruff.

"Together, then," he said softly, lifting a gloved hand to gently brush away my tears. "Let us go to the Maker together."

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to face him and that imploring look. So calm, so confident, so ready to face death... as long as we were together. I sighed, leaning into the warm palm of his glove on my cheek. "Oh, Alistair..."

"Are you two trying to get yourselves killed, running off alone like that!"

Lelianna's shrill rebuke jolted me from my brief state of contemplation and I twisted on the staircase to see her come to an abrupt halt just behind me. Oghren grunted as he ran straight into the back of her, and then the rest of them came into view as they piled into the small, curved space, all breathing hard and covered in Darkspawn blood.

I opened my mouth, but then paused, not wishing to tell them how true that assumption was.

To my surprise, Alistair spoke instead, his voice strong and clear. "The Archdemon is on top of this tower. It's wounded, but we must hurry before it calls any other Darkspawn to its aid. Come, there is no more time to waste!"

He led the way to the tower's roof.

* * *

><p>Everything was a blur of dragon scales, leathery wings, blood and teeth. Its roars were deafening, vibrating through my bones, making my ears ring. Those of us with swords and knives ducked in around its legs and belly when we could, hacking and slashing. The archers fired a constant rain of arrows, trying their best to hit the Archdemon and not us. The mages hurled spells as fast as their energy reserves would allow; already several had overexerted themselves and crouched on the ground, vomiting or nursing bloody noses.<p>

I had used the horn hooked to my belt to summon all that was left of the armies to our location, and they had arrived one after the other, bedraggled and exhausted, but heartened at the sight of the wounded Archdemon. We needed every single one of them.

They all fought hard.

But the dragon was very large. And very, very angry.

Our numbers had dropped to a dangerous few before finally, it's strength began to fail. It could no longer rise onto all fours, but resorted to thrashing about on its belly and breathing fire in wide arcs. "Keep at the ballista!" I screamed at Sten above the noise of the fight. The Qunari was the largest and strongest we had; he was the only one who could load and fire the ballista with any kind of respectable speed. The flaming balls of tar enraged the beast as they stuck to its scales and burned, distracting it enough that the rest of us to dance in and land several blows before the dragon turned its attention back our way.

I stayed near its hindquarters, away from the fire and teeth, ducking the clawed hindlimb as it kicked out viciously. I kept an eye on Alistair, kept him near me, to make sure I could stop him if he tried to make a killing strike.

But while watching him, I could not see the Archdemon's tail whip around behind me.

It struck me in the back hard enough to throw me straight over Alistair's head. I landed hard and rolled into the battlements that encircled the roof, unable to move. I couldn't breathe, couldn't see.

"Kallian!"

Alistair's voice. Through the agony pulsing in my chest I sucked in a breath of air, trying to concentrate on breathing and not panicking. My vision slowly cleared, fuzzy at first, then coming into focus. Alistair crouched above me, his face a mask of worry.

"Kallian, can you hear me?"

I blinked slowly. "Yes." The word sounded like it came from far away.

"Thank the Maker!" He glanced over his shoulder to where the Archdemon's howls of rage and pain still splintered the air. "Don't move, you're safe here. It's almost over."

"No, Alistair!" His sleek armor slipped from my weak fingers, and then he was gone.

I swore in both the Maker and Andraste's name, then summoned what strength I had left and forced myself to roll over onto my side. Pain shocked through my body and made the world flash white and I cried out, then ground my teeth against it. My breath sounded ragged even in my own ears as I looked around for my knives.

Gone. And so was my helmet.

No matter. Plenty of weapons still remained in the hands of those who had fallen.

I struggled to my hands and knees, then pushed myself standing. I doubled over immediately, feeling lightheaded, my chest protesting every expansion of my ribs. I coughed and tasted blood.

No matter.

I forced myself to straighten again, one arm remaining tucked protectively over my ribs. I looked out to the fight and saw that the Archdemon's death throes were now much weaker. My heart jumped. Not long now... not much time...

The dragon fell heavily onto its side, its torn and useless wings sagging, its long snake-like neck rising in one final act of defiance against its fate. Alistair's bright form rushed for the Archdemon's neck, his sword raised high.

The jolt of realization numbed my physical condition and I found myself running, oblivious of the pain. I ran as hard as I could, my feet pounding the stone, Alistair's glinting armor the whole focus of my world. I snatched up a Hurlock's sword from where it had been planted in a soldier's neck and crashed full speed into the future King of Fereldon. He staggered, almost falling.

The dragon's throat loomed above me, and I plunged my borrowed blade deep into the soft flesh, slicing down to the breast. The creature shrieked, raising the hairs on my neck. Its gaping jaws snapped at me, but I barely sidestepped, feeling warm spittle across my face. And then its head was within reach, right at my feet.

Alistair appeared on the other side of it, but I did not hesitate.

I stabbed my sword into the dragon's skull with all my might.

"Kallian, NO!"

The Archdemon gave one final cry, its body jerking spasmodically as its life drained out through my blade. The sword trembled in my hands, growing warm, beginning to glow. The power rushed through me all at once... the evil, the hatred, the anger, the desire to dominate. The corruption filled me, burning my soul.

I screamed. For everything that could have been and wasn't, for everything I'd had and lost...

The world folded in on itself, narrowing, compressing, until I felt as if it would crush me. And then, everything exploded, and blissful oblivion claimed me.

* * *

><p>Alistair regained consciousness slowly, staring up at a sky the color of blood. He blinked groggily, not remembering how he'd ended up flat on his back and weaponless. He waited a moment, listening, but only a suffocating silence reigned. Gradually the memories trickled back into his awareness. The Darkspawn Horde... the battle at the Gates of Denerim... seeing Riordan fall, the race to the tower, fighting the Archdemon, and...<p>

The image of the woman he loved plunging her sword into the dragon's head leapt to the front of his mind and he rolled abruptly to his hands and knees. His armor was bulky and awkward, a prison that had encumbered him and allowed her to sacrafice herself in his stead.

"No," he whispered. "Maker, please... please let there be a way... let Riordan be wrong..." He dared lift his head to look out on the hundreds of dead bodies that littered the tower, the flames and acrid smoke still billowing. His gaze finally found her familiar form, sprawled and motionless, and a sob hitched in his throat.

He crawled to her and gathered her into his arms, clutching her to him. Her silver hair had come down, caked in blood and dirt, her amber eyes staring sightlessly at the red sky above. One last tear remained on her cheek, still wet. He kissed it away.

"No... no, please..." He stroked her skin, her hair, desperately trying to rouse her, to convince himself there had to be some way around the Sacrafice of the Gray Wardens.

He was not sure how long he spent there, just holding her. But nothing changed. There was nothing he could do. She was gone.

He held her even tighter, burying his face into her neck, and let the grief break free at last.


	5. Epilogue

The massive King's tent looked just as they had left it: bed covers a mess, supply trunks standing open, discarded weapons and armor lined along the ground, half-eaten breakfast still on the table. The servants had been left at Redcliffe to tend to much more important tasks, like barricading and protecting the women and children and tending to the wounded. Tidying the campsite had not been anyone's concern when they had readied to march on Denerim that previous dawn.

Voices floated at the edge of his awareness as the weary soldiers trudged back into camp: whispers of disbelief, shouts of joy, cries of sorrow for those who had been lost. The Archdemon had been defeated and the remaining Darkspawn driven from Denerim. The city was safe, and without a demon at the forefront, Fereldan could eventually drive the rest of the Horde back underground where they belonged.

The Blight had ended only a year after it had begun.

Because of her.

Alistair stood in the tent's doorway, still feeling as if he were walking in a dream. Only his battered body, the exhaustion, and the unbearable weight of his armor reminded him that this bittersweet victory was indeed real.

Had it only been this morning they had stormed the city? Only this morning he had given that rousing speech to the armies with her at his side, so very much alive? Only last night he had held her in his arms, warm beneath the blankets, and let her breathing lull him to sleep?

He sagged against the nearest tent post and it creaked under his weight, but held. He felt... so tired. So... numb. Something inside had died along with her atop that tower, and now he walked like an empty shell; a soulless vessel moving without conscious thought. He'd let Wynn and Lelianna take charge once the survivors of the fight against the Archdemon had roused enough to wonder what to do next.

Or rather, Wynn and Lelianna had stepped in once they'd realized his state of mind.

He still didn't remember coming down from the tower, or fighting the straggling Darkspawn, or walking back to camp.

Not until he'd reached the tent did he remember where he was, and what he was supposed to be doing: undressing, bathing, eating, resting.

The others were tending to her body. The funeral discussions would come later. After...

Alistair shook his head, finally moving into the tent and collapsing heavily into the nearest sturdy wooden chair. He dropped his head into his hands.

After what? After he'd changed? Eaten? Slept? After he felt better about the fact she'd been the one to die instead of him?

A sob hitched in his throat but he choked it back, clenching his fists. It would be a long, long time before he could face himself in a looking glass again. _I don't deserve to be King... I never did. Don't know why I let her talk me into such a ludicrous idea... she's the reason I got this far, why I thought I could even take a chance at it. Without her... _

Another sob strangled past his best efforts to contain it. Instinctively he shut off his mind, refusing anymore thoughts of her in a desperate attempt to save himself from drowning in a sea of misery. He began to mechanically undo the buckles of his armor, pulling it off one section at a time. Until finally he wore only his undershirt and trousers, the cloth stuck to his skin with swiftly-cooling sweat.

But he did not move for the wash basin, or the half-eaten and cold food, nor the comfort of the plushly blanketed bed. He simply sat, and stared at the designs in the wood grain of the table. Thinking nothing, feeling nothing.

Until finally, there was a rustle at the doorway of his tent.

"Pardon me, Alistair... er, your Majesty?"

He cringed at the title, immediately recognizing Lelianna's soft tones. "Please, don't call me that." His voice didn't sound his own.

"Um, yes, well... may I come in? I have... food. Warm, fresh food."

"I'm not hungry."

There was a moment of hesitation, and then soft tread across the dirt. A bowl of stew appeared in front of him, but his attention caught on the clean hands that served it. He looked up to see Lelianna had already washed, and wore a clean suit of light armor - he had never seen her in anything short of some type of armor. Then he realized how dim his tent had become, and how dark it was outside. He watched, dumbfounded, as Lelianna silently lit the lamps and candles, filling the tent with a soft, golden glow.

How long had he been sitting?

"I will have fresh water brought for you as well," she said quietly, her sideways glance making him suddenly conscious of how he must look, and smell...

She lifted the wash basin, then paused, frowning. "Oh, um..." She plucked something from the bedside table and turned toward him, a small, folded piece of parchment in her fingers. "This was tucked near the basin... it's for you. I will... leave you now, come back later." She dropped the paper next to the bowl of stew and scurried from the tent.

Alistair frowned at her strange behavior. He looked down to the paper, and then he understood. His name was written there, in Kallian's rough, barely legible handwriting. His heart immediately shoved into his throat and a wave of nausea made him push the stew away with a grimace. He picked up the paper and took a deep breath, leaning back in the chair.

For a second, he considered not reading it. Considered burning it, forgetting it ever existed. Why torture himself with any more reminders of what he'd lost?

But in the end, he had to know. He unfolded it, and read:

_My dear Alistair,_

_If you found this note, it means Riordan failed to kill the Archdemon, and I suceeded. Please don't blame yourself. I know you will think it is somehow your fault, but it is not. Trust me when I say I wanted it this way. I love you,__ Alistair. More than I ever wanted to admit to myself. Our night together in Redcliffe, and the few nights we __had together after, will remain in my heart forever. I am so glad for our time together, however short it was. _

_I wish I could have stayed with you. But the Blight had to be stopped. Now, I can only hope that you and all of Fereldan are safe. You are King now, Alistair, please remember that. And don't you dare doubt yourself. You will be a great King. I know this as surely as I know how much I love you. And don't you try to put Anora on the throne now, either. I may have gone on to meet the Maker, but I'm still watching you!_

_Oh Alistair, it is so hard to write this when you are sleeping so close to me... so hard to think this might actually happen, that these might be my last words to you. Thank you, Alistair, for loving me, for being with me, for wanting me to stay with you, always. You have been a bright spot in the darkness of the last several months, my reason for continuing to hope and fight, my reason to find courage when it seemed I had none... the one who could make me laugh no matter what horrible creature we had yet to face. I can rest in peace now, knowing you are safe. Please take care of Fereldan for me, and remember I will always love you._

_Yours Forever,  
>Kallian<em>

He stared at the words for a long time, hardly noticing where his tears had smeared the ink. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

She was right. Always right.

He would officially be the King of Fereldan soon. She had fought hard and risked much to put him on the throne; shown him what he was really capable of and made him begin to believe in himself. And now she had made the ultimate sacrafice for him - for everyone.

He would not let her death be in vain. He would see the rest of the Darkspawn driven from Fereldan; he would take the throne. He would be sure he was remembered as something more than just Maric's bastard son.

He would do it for her.

* * *

><p><strong>THE END.<strong>

**A/N: Many thanks must go to my beta Sinvraal for her outstanding input and suggestions for this little fic! She did a great job of forcing me to not be lazy with this thing, and I much appreciate her efforts!**


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